I have often lamented the fact that I don’t have multiple lifetimes to:
- pursue all my interests deeply
- to fall in love a million times
- to learn every language and culture
- to get to know every human deeply
- to finally read all the books that I have bought that are collecting dust on my shelf

creating and destroying; built flying cars & autonomous vehicles, now building roc.camera, writings: july.rocks

Yet, perhaps it’s a feature (not a bug) of our lives. because if we had infinite time — would there really be an urgency to figure out a way to shove as much of this as we possibly can into one life? and live as brightly as we can?

What was life? […] Nobody knew. Nobody knew the natural point at which it sprang up and ignited. […] It was the being of what could not really be, of what could barely balance on the point of being only with painful and sweet effort in a particular and feverish process of decay and renewal. It was not matter and it was not spirit. It was something in between, a phenomenon carried by matter, like the rainbow above the waterfall and like the flame.

- The Magic Mountain (Der Zauberberg), Thomas Mann